They were caught in a trap. Every time the monsters feinted, the humans wasted precious energy. If they stopped reacting to the feints to save mana, the hounds would use that brief delay to bite their heads off.
"If this continues, the Swordsmen and Tankers will run out of mana," the senior Mage said, his voice tight with panic. "We need to do something! We have to thin their numbers!"
The senior Mage didn't wait for an order. He raised his glowing staff. He built a Fireball with Tail and launched a highly condensed sphere of fire directly at the nearest sitting beast. Beside him, a desperate Archer fired an arrow sealed with Aura.
The projectiles shot across the dirt road. But the hounds were no longer packed together in a chaotic, blind swarm. They were spaced out, entirely focused, and actively tracking the bright flashes of Aura.
The targeted hound did not even flinch. It simply shifted its weight and leaned lazily to the right.
The arrow whistled harmlessly past its ear. The fireball slammed into the empty dirt a split second later, blowing a useless crater in the grass. The hound easily hopped backward, completely unscathed. It sat right back down and stared blankly at the frustrated Mage.
Elian's jaw tightened. He understood the terrifying reality of the trap.
When a Tanker was bashing a hound's skull with a heavy iron shield, the beast's senses were entirely overloaded. It couldn't track the deadly steel in its face and a fireball coming from fifteen meters away at the exact same time.
But out here, in a wide open ring, the beasts had absolutely zero melee pressure distracting them. One hundred percent of their focus was dedicated to dodging.
Worse, they were Abyssal Blindhounds. They didn't use eyes. Their entire biological specialty was tracking the raw pressure of active Aura.
When the senior Mage casted that fireball, it acted like a big flare in the dark. The hound felt the spell charging two full seconds on his staff. It had all the time in the world to step out of the way.
Unless a Mage possessed terrifying combat instinct to flawlessly predict the beast's evasion, or the raw power to launch a high-tier spell with an inescapable blast radius, hitting an un-distracted, aura-sensitive Hazard-class monster from a distance was physically impossible.
Elian was the only Level 6 in the entire raid. His backline consisted of Level 3 Archers and Level 4 Mages. They were dependable team fighters, but the flight speed of their spells and the physical velocity of their arrows were strictly bound by their mid-level ranks. They simply lacked the overwhelming, rule-breaking destructive scale of a high-level solo Adventurer.
"Ceasefire!" Elian ordered, grabbing the senior Mage's staff and forcing it downward. "Do not cast another spell!"
"But Leader—"
"We are just wasting mana," Elian cut him off grimly. "They are too fast to snipe when they are just sitting there watching us. We have finite arrows and finite Mana. If you empty your Mana Cores shooting at shadows, we will have nothing left to defend ourselves when they finally decide to rush us."
The young Swordsman beside the Mage gripped his glowing blade, his arms shaking as he realized ranged attacks were completely useless. "Leader, then we should break the formation! If we charge them right now while our Tankers and Swordsmen have full Mana, we can cut a path through them! If we stay in this circle, our Aura will drain our Mana until we are empty!"
Elian looked down at the dirt. Lying at his feet were the seven unconscious Mages and Healers who had been knocked out during the initial ambush. It would take hours for their bodies to recover and wake up.
"If we break the defensive circle and risk a full assault, the hounds will slip past the Tankers," Elian said, his voice grim. "Our sleeping Mages and Healers will be slaughtered in seconds. We either abandon them to fight, or we hold this fortress until they wake up and pray our Mana lasts."
The Swordsman swallowed hard and nodded. They would not abandon their comrades.
"Keep the Auras on," Elian finally ordered, his voice hollow. "Do not turn them off. If we mess up the timing on a feint, the line breaks."
And so, the waiting began.
The sun climbed higher into the sky. The heat became unbearable. The Tankers stood frozen in their stances, their muscles screaming, their Mana slowly burning away into the air.
The hounds just watched them, occasionally snapping their jaws or taking a fake step forward just to keep the humans terrified and on edge.
Two hours passed.
The psychological torture was working perfectly. Inside the circle, the women began to cry. A young female Healer dropped to her knees, burying her face in her hands, sobbing quietly. She had a daughter back in the capital. She knew she was never going to see her again.
Normally, this was the moment Elian would step up. As the charismatic leader, he would flash a bright smile, tell a joke, and promise them that victory was right around the corner. He had done it a hundred times before.
He opened his mouth to speak and looked at the crying healer. He looked at the nine hundred and sixty hounds waiting patiently for them to tire out.
Elian closed his mouth and looked down at the dirt.
His confidence was entirely shattered. He had nothing to say. Any word of encouragement right now would just be a cruel, empty lie. They all knew the math. The youngest Swordsman only had about four hours of Aura left.
Once that four-hour countdown reached zero, the weakest link in the circle would collapse. The line would break. And the slaughter would begin.
Elian sat down in the dirt, placed his useless daggers on his lap, and simply stared at the grass, waiting to be eaten alive.
---
Miles away, the morning was entirely peaceful.
The black carriage rolled slowly down a wide, flat dirt road that cut through a vast open plain. The sky was clear blue.
Inside the carriage, Kian was fast asleep, buried under a pile of soft blankets. He had ordered Lexi to leave the carriage early that morning and go deep into the nearby forest to find a very specific type of sweet wild berry he suddenly had a craving for.
That left Mirelle entirely alone on the driving board, holding the heavy leather reins.
Her blistered hands ached, but her twelve-year-old mind was calm. Ever since the wyvern attack, she felt safe as long as she was near this carriage. Even with Lexi gone, Mirelle assumed that no one in their right mind would dare attack the property of her terrifying, unfathomable master.
She was wrong.
As the carriage crested a small hill, Mirelle pulled back on the reins, bringing the horses to a sudden halt. Her blue eyes widened in pure shock.
Blocking the entire width of the road ahead was an army.
There were at least three thousand men camped across the plains. They looked filthy, wearing mismatched leather armor and carrying rusted swords, heavy axes, and spiked clubs.
Massive black banners flapped in the morning wind, bearing the crude painting of a red skull biting a gold coin.
Mirelle did not know what the banner meant. She did not know this was the most infamous, ruthless bandit syndicate in the western region—a massive criminal organization that specialized in kidnapping children and selling them to corrupt nobles in faraway countries.
She just knew they looked very scary.
A group of ten bandits near the center of the road noticed the black carriage stop. They saw the tiny, blue-haired girl sitting alone on the driving board. They nudged each other and laughed loudly, their greedy eyes lighting up.
"Well, well, well," a large, scarred bandit with missing teeth called out, walking slowly toward the carriage. "Look at this absolute jackpot. Where are you going, little girl?"
Mirelle's hands trembled. She gripped the reins tighter.
"Straight ahead," she answered nervously, her voice small.
The bandit stopped right next to the horses. He looked around. "Where are your parents, little bird?"
"They are at home," Mirelle said honestly, swallowing her fear. "I am currently traveling."
The bandits behind the scarred man laughed even harder.
"Are you traveling all by yourself?" the man asked, a wicked grin spreading across his ugly face.
"No," Mirelle said quickly. "I have someone with me."
She turned around and desperately knocked on the wooden door behind her.
Knock. Knock.
Nothing happened.
She knocked faster, panic rising in her chest.
Knock, knock, knock, knock!
Only the soft sound of Kian snoring drifted through the wood. He was entirely dead to the world.
The bandit leaned against the side of the carriage, highly amused. "Do you know who we are, little girl?"
Mirelle shook her head, her blue hair trembling.
"I am sorry, mister, but I do not know. Can I pass?" she asked, her voice shaking violently.
The ten men erupted into roaring laughter.
"Come here, little girl," the scarred bandit demanded, reaching his dirty hand toward her ankle.
"I am sorry, I cannot. I am in a hurry," Mirelle squeaked, pulling her legs up onto the wooden bench to avoid his grasp.
"Come now," the man coaxed, dropping his voice to a mocking whisper. "We are kind people."
Mirelle did not answer. She was completely frozen, her heart beat fast.
"We are bandits, you stupid brat," another man yelled from the back. "We sell children to nobles in faraway countries to earn a lot of money. You are coming with us right now."
Mirelle's eyes widened in sheer horror. She remembered her first kidnapping attempt.
"No, please!" Mirelle begged, tears welling up in her eyes. "Let us talk! I can give you money once I come home! My father is very rich! He will pay you handsomely!"
The men laughed so hard some of them doubled over and completely ignored her desperate bargaining. They went completely silent, their faces turning cold and serious, and began walking directly toward the carriage.
Mirelle froze, absolutely terrified.
The scarred man stepped forward, reached up, and violently grabbed her left wrist. He yanked her hard.
"Come down if you do not want to get hurt," the man growled.
"Help!" Mirelle screamed at the top of her lungs, fighting against his grip. "Lexi!"
There was no response. Only the wind blew across the plains.
"Lexi!" she screamed again, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Nothing. The man pulled her again, using pure force. Mirelle slipped off the wooden bench, her knees scraping against the hard wood as she was dragged toward the dirt.
She struggled wildly, kicking her feet. She turned her head toward the wooden door.
"MASTER! WAKE UP YOU LAZY JERK! HELP ME!" she shrieked, her voice cracking with pure desperation.
The bandit laughed and prepared to throw her over his shoulder.
Suddenly, the heavy wooden door of the carriage swung open.
The scarred bandit paused, looking up.
Kian stood in the doorway. He was wearing his soft sleeping clothes. His black hair was a messy nest. He rubbed his right eye lazily, looking down at the scarred man holding his servant's wrist.
Kian looked incredibly annoyed that someone had dared to yell so loudly while he was having a good dream.
The scarred man stared at Kian's face. He did not recognize the lazy young man at all. He just sneered.
But about ten meters away, another bandit dropped his heavy iron axe into the dirt. The man's face went completely pale, all the blood draining from his skin in a single second. His eyes bulged out of his skull.
"Ahh! It's..." the man choked out, taking a trembling step backward. "It's Thousand Strings."
The scarred man holding Mirelle stopped laughing. Every single bandit within earshot completely froze.